Her millitant feminist former roommate

“So the best person to train my Dani would be someone who can really put her heart into breaking a sissy, right? Someone with no compunctions about destroying a man.”

“Exactly, and no mother could ever treat her son that way. There’s just too much biology incetivizing us to coddle our children for their own safety, despite what’s best in the long run. Ideally you’d hand him off to a close friend or a relative who’s removed enough to be cruel. I’d suggest his sister, but at her age she’d focus to heavily on her own gratification and not enough on training him. It needs to be someone with a real presence of mind. Can you think of anyone.”

“There is one person, but I hesitated to send my poor Dani to her. She’s my old college room mate. She’s a strong feminist, and she believes men have been rendered obslete by the evolution of Futa. She’s very much a proponent of the feminization procedure and has even written some textbooks on the subject. But knowing just what she’ll do to Dani...I don’t know if I can put my daughter through that, even for her own good.”

“I know how hard it can be to entrust a sissy’s training to someone else. I did it with four sons. But now those four sons are four gorgeous daughters living as they were meant to live. They have husbands, wives, and owners who cherish them dearly and keep them in their place. If your sissy is ever to reach that point, you have to do this. Now, I’m gonna go get the equipment you need, fill out a perscription for estrogen, and change this sissy into her proper clothes before she wakes up. You think about it. I’m sure you’ll realize it’s the right thing to do.”

Ten minutes later Andrea Cross lead her new daughter, now Danielle Cross, out of the office. The paperwork was filled out and the old Daniel no longer existed. There was only Danielle. She wore a frilly pink dress that ended short enough to show off her garter belt and stockings, and more importantly, her chasity cage, which rendered her baby-dick useless. The whole outfit was geared toward emasculation. Her face was done in a pretty heavy but pretty layer of makeup, she was gagged with a short penis gag to train her to suck, and a blonde wig with pigtails was firmly attached to her head. Her arms were locked in an armbinder, her legs bound by a six inch chain that kept her from running (if the six inch heels she wore didn’t manage that by themselves), and a leash was wrapped around her neck.

Still she tried to resist, of course, but it was hopeless. She could either follow her mother to the care obediently or fall to the pavement. Once at the care she was bound in an larger version of a child safety seat and render almost totally immobile.

As they left the parking lot, Andrea dialed a number saved to her phone and said, “Hey, Natalie, it’s me, Andrea. I was wondering if you were free to talk for a bit...”